


The Waiting Game

by ArcticLucie



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, Malex Week 2020, meet ugly, michael is thirsty af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25323616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: When Michael gets sentenced to court mandated therapy, he doesn't expect to find a date in the waiting room.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 14
Kudos: 129





	The Waiting Game

**Author's Note:**

> I missed day 1 of Malex week, so here's my meet ugly in lieu of the free day.

As far as court mandated punishments went, Michael supposed therapy didn’t sound so bad. Sixty days in the slammer? No thanks, he’d go to the damn therapist and try to do something constructive for once in his life. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t bitch about it.

“I’m so proud of you, Michael. I think this will be really good for you,” Isobel said as they pulled into the parking lot. She had insisted on driving him to his first appointment. Probably to assure that he went. He didn’t blame her.

Skipping out on it had crossed his mind a time or two, but he couldn’t take another lecture from Deputy Dad, also known as Max. Michael could almost hear his voice in his head. “When’s your appointment, Michael?” “Don’t forget your appointment, Michael?” “Don’t make me regret vouching for you, Michael.”

“You’re gonna be late if you don’t get out, Michael.”

Michael turned his head to glare at Max in the backseat. See what he had to put up with? Mother hens, the lot of them. He knew it meant they cared, but he had issues okay, hence the need for intense psychotherapy.

“Alright, I’m going,” he huffed as he took off his seatbelt and pushed open the door.

The office looked generic enough when he made it inside. He filled out some paperwork the receptionist gave him then took a seat in the corner. He checked his watch several times as he bounced his knee to try and dispel some of his anxious energy and keep from vibrating out of his skin. He could’ve probably ran a marathon with the amount of adrenaline running through him.

“Dr. Brady’s running late,” the receptionist said, probably taking pity on his nerves.

He nodded and thought about thumbing through some magazines while he waited, but the door jingled open before he could decide, and the most delicious hunk of eye candy Michael had ever seen strutted right up to the reception desk. The man’s shirttail rode up when he leaned his elbows on the counter, and his tight jeans left little to the imagination where the guy’s exquisite ass was concerned.

“Hey, Mary. I’m here for my appointment,” the guy said, voice a velvety melody Michael wanted to snuggle up in.

“I have you checked in, Alex. Dr. Brady’s running late.”

“No problem. I’m off today.”

“Oh, have any big plans?” Mary asked with a smile that made Michael go a little green around the edges.

“You’re looking at it.”

“Well, enjoy your down time then.”

“I will.” Alex smiled at her before turning around, his gaze landing on Michael who hadn’t managed to tear his eyes away from that perfect ass in time. He gulped at getting caught, but if Alex’s smile got a little bigger because of it, Michael’s heart couldn’t tell ‘cause it stopped.

Aw, dammit. So much for stomping out that bisexual awakening he kept trying to ignore.

He looked away but tracked Alex in his periphery as he walked toward the adjacent corner and took a seat two chairs down. Michael let out a long sigh and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, hoping it might stop the bouncing. It didn’t. So he sat back up and popped his neck.

“Therapy virgin?” Alex asked, and Michael’s eyes darted over to him at lightspeed.

“You could say that, yeah.”

“It’s not so bad. Dr. Brady’s really good.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice. It’s court mandated,” Michael bit out, trying to push the guy away before he even realized it, the action so ingrained in his brain.

“What’d you do? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t remember,” he lied. “Something about a parade float and a watermelon stand, or so they tell me.”

Alex’s eyes crinkled in confusion before morphing into recognition. “Michael Guerin. You’re the dickhole that stole my float!”

“Your float?”

“It was my parade you ruined,” he said, reaching down to pull up his pant leg to reveal a prosthetic.

“Oh, shit, Alex  _ Manes?" _ Michael hadn’t recognized him out of uniform. He looked hotter somehow.

“Three quarters of him, anyway.”

“I’m—”

“Sorry? Yeah, well, it’s not about the parade. I couldn’t have cared less about that. The watermelon stand however, was my nephew’s and he’s been crying about it ever since.”

“God, I  _ am _ a dickhole. I’ll, uh, I’ll build him a new one. I swear.”

“Yeah, you will.”

The conviction in Alex’s statement should’ve pissed him off. In fact, it would have if it had come from anybody else, but coming out of that pretty mouth did weird things to his dick. Yeah, he’d definitely have to add a sexual identity crisis to his list of therapy goals. Not that he considered it a crisis, because the war hero was fucking hot.

“Is that why you’re here?” Michael asked, motioning toward Alex’s missing leg. He half expected Alex to tell him to fuck off, but he didn’t.

He sighed heavy instead as he nodded. “Partly. PTSD is a bitch, but I was messed up long before that. Major daddy issues on account of him trying to beat the gay out of me. Joke’s on him though, ‘cause it didn’t work.” He huffed out the cutest little laugh that had Michael mirroring it.

“Major abandonment and intimacy issues thanks to growing up in shitty foster care.”

Alex smirked at him, the twist of his lips a beautiful thing. “Are you trying to one up me with your trauma?”

“Hey, you showed me yours, thought I’d show you mine.”

Alex hummed, his eyes turning contemplative as they stared at each other in the quiet room. “This is probably a massive conflict of interest or something considering the circumstances, but would you maybe wanna grab a drink with me when we’re done here? You know, to discuss the architecture of watermelon stands and what not.”

Michael couldn’t have hid his smile if he’d tried. “Can we make it a milkshake instead? I’m trying to lay off the booze.”

“Right,” Alex agreed. “Good call. And yes, I’m definitely down for milkshakes.”

“Great. Then it’s a date.”  


"Is it?" Alex asked with the quirk of a brow.

"I sure hope so 'cause I plan on kissing the shit out of you after."

Alex's cheeks flushed as he bit his lip. "Okay, then. But you're still rebuilding the watermelon stand."

"Absolutely."

And just like that, Michael felt a thousand times lighter than he had when he first walked in. Maybe this whole therapy thing had promise after all.


End file.
